Neither Flesh nor Blood
by Nefertiri's Handmaiden
Summary: "You know we love you, right, Sensei?" Splinter's sons are keeping a secret from him, but he can tell something has happened to them. Set in the 2012 Nickelodeon 'verse post "Tale of the Yokai."


Neither Flesh nor Blood

By Nefertiri's Handmaiden

Author's note: Set in the 2012 Nickelodeon series, post "Tale of the Yokai." I thought there were some things that needed resolving after that episode.

* * *

"It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons." -Friedrich von Schiller

* * *

They returned to the lair with food from Mr. Murakami. It was Leo's idea, and they all agreed - even Mikey, who asked Mr. Murakami to include a few extra cucumbers. It felt appropriate, somehow, to present their father with a traditional meal tonight.

Sensei and April were just finishing up a training session. She asked if they wanted to watch a movie when she was done, but after a few quiet words from Donnie, she made her excuses and headed home to her father.

Splinter was pleasantly surprised when the boys urged him to sit with them, nudging him down at the head of the table. It seemed it had been a long time since they had eaten together as a family. The boys were so often out at night these days, or dealing with this crisis or that.

Leo served him first, and then started passing food to the others. Splinter watched them, sensing they were sharing an emotion or an idea, but not quite able to figure out what it was. They had not been out long tonight, but they all seemed tired and a little sad, and yet somehow also happy. No, he thought. Not happy; grateful.

He considered asking, but then decided to hold his tongue. His sons would tell him what had happened when they were ready. For now, they were healthy and uninjured and strong, and they were all here together.

Later, Michelangelo hugged him as the boys indicated they were about to go to bed. It wasn't unusual for his youngest son to be most affectionate, but tonight his arms around Splinter's middle were tight and a little desperate. Splinter patted his son's shell comfortingly, remembering the way Michelangelo had always come running when one of the other boys was being unkind in the way children were.

Big blue eyes looked up at him. "You know we love you, right, Sensei?" Michelangelo asked, looking very sincere.

Splinter was confused by the sudden clinginess, to which none of his sons were prone, but he smiled gently anyway. "Of course I do. And I love all of you."

The other boys were quiet as they approached and hugged themselves around Splinter and Michelangelo. No one spoke further.

It was Donatello who broke away first, then Leonardo and then Michelangelo. Raphael, unusually, held on the longest - just a second longer than his brothers.

"Goodnight, Sensei," Leonardo said.

"Goodnight, my sons," Splinter replied, and the boys shuffled off to their rooms.

It was strange, Splinter mused later. When April called him sensei, he heard 'teacher.' When the boys said it, he heard 'father.'

* * *

Splinter often woke at night. Rats, it seemed, were more active at night and Splinter had adopted the habit with his transformation. He would often train, sometimes meditate or eat.

Tonight, he found himself hungry when he woke around 3 a.m., and was surprised to find the light on in the kitchen when he approached. The turtles often slept deeply and rarely woke in the night these days; had not risen frequently since they were very young.

It was Donatello, sitting at the island and staring as he stirred a spoon through a bowl of cereal that was rapidly becoming much too soggy.

"It is late, my son," Splinter greeted him.

Donatello looked up. "I couldn't sleep," he responded, sounding a little melancholy.

"Why is that?" Splinter asked as he reached into the refrigerator to gather the makings of a sandwich.

"Thinking." Splinter remained silent and waited for Donatello to continue. His son did not speak further as Splinter fixed his sandwich, but Splinter could feel his eyes on his back. It wasn't until he sat next to his son, sandwich on a plate in front of him, that Donatello spoke again. "Sensei, do you believe in fate?"

"Hmmm," Splinter hummed. "It is a deep question that keeps you awake this night."

"It's just… It doesn't seem fair. If you had never lost Tang Shen and Miwa and come to New York, you would have never been mutated - but then neither would any of us. It just seems like life has been cruel to you, and somehow we benefited from it."

"I see." Splinter meditated on his response for a moment. Finally, he said, "I have also asked myself this question, and I do not think I have ever reached a satisfying answer. I believe that sometimes we are swept along in the tide of destiny. I also believe each choice we make leads to the next and the next and the next, and we must always make the choice we deem best. But mostly, my son, I do not believe in playing games of if-then. In our existence, it is too simple a game."

"Simple," Donatello mused. They sat in silence a few more moments and Splinter could sense the cogs in his son's head turning. Then Donatello rose and put his cereal bowl in the sink. "Goodnight, Sensei."

"Goodnight."

Donatello paused in the doorway to the kitchen and turned back. "I don't know if we're supposed to exist or not. But I'm glad you're our father."

Splinter let the corner of his mouth quirk up. "As am I, my son."

* * *

They trained the next day. The turtles were quiet and listened to his instructions carefully. They were usually good students, but today they were even more focused than was their norm.

"No, no, Raphael," Splinter said patiently. "You must duck deeper to avoid an attack. I will show you." He set himself in front of Raphael and motioned with one hand. "Now. Attack me."

Raphael face developed a sudden look of panic.

"No," he said.

"No?" Splinter questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Raphael was clearly nervous at his outright disobedience, but he held his ground. "I'll practice it with Mikey."

"Michelangelo is not tall enough to demonstrate this movement."

"Donnie, then."

"I'll do it," Dontallo said, stepping forward.

Splinter was befuddled. Donatello rarely volunteered to spar against Raphael. Did they think he was trying to punish Raphael? He didn't think so. "Raphael-"

"Please, Sensei," Raphael said desperately.

"Raphael!"

"Father," Leonardo interrupted, and the use of the word stopped Splinter in his tracks. The boys only called him that when something was wrong. "Please don't make Raph raise a hand to you today. We- uh- we're in no place to do that right now."

Splinter eyed his sons carefully. None of them met his gaze, not even Leonardo. They couldn't actually think Raphael could do him any harm, could they? They had managed to strike him only once, and this exercise was nothing like that one. Something had happened They had seen something. He just didn't know what it was.

He straightened out of his fighting stance.

"Very well. Donatello." He motioned for Donatello to take his place.

He decided to let it go for now. They continued training.

* * *

Michelangelo became ill. It was unusual for the boys to get sick, but sometimes, like the average human, they caught a virus. They each handled it differently, but when Michelangelo was ill, he became lethargic. He would go to bed and stay there until he would suddenly emerge, again a bouncing ball of energy. Now, cuddled in his bed, used tissues scattered across his blanket and the floor, Michelangelo made a not unusual request of Splinter.

"Tell me a story, Sensei."

"Very well," Splinter indulged, settling himself on a chair next to the bed. "It many years ago, not long after I came to New York. I was exiting the pet store with four baby turtles-"

"No, Sensei, not that story."

"Then which one?"

"Kappa," Michelangelo said, yawning deeply.

"Kappa?" Splinter questioned. "I do not know any stories of kappa."

"Yeah, you do," Michelangelo murmured. He snuggled deeper into his pillow and then sniffed. "Cucumber."

It sparked something from the depth of Splinter's memory.

"Ah. I will tell you a tale that Tang Shen told Miwa. Once, a young girl stood fetching water on the bank of a great river…"

Michelangelo was asleep before the story was over.

Splinter was thoughtful as he exited his room, shutting the door quietly behind him to let Michelangelo sleep. He could not ever recall telling the boys the kappa story about the cucumber. He had barely remembered it and had not thought about it in many years. And yet Michelangelo had known it.

"How's Mikey?" Leonardo asked from the couch as Splinter made his way back through the living room.

"Asleep," Splinter replied. "He will be fine in a few more days."

"Good," Leo said, turning his attention back to the laptop in front of him.

"Leonardo, how-" Splinter started, stopping when his son turned back to look at him.

"Yes, Sensei?"

Splinter looked at his son's guileless expression as he waited for the rest of the question. "It's nothing, my son."

Leonardo shrugged and turned back to the computer.

This, Splinter thought, had something to do with the secret his sons were keeping.

* * *

The boys returned in rough shape. Raphael's face was so swollen one of his green eyes was lost to puffy flesh. Donatello was bleeding heavily from a deep cut on his forearm, blood dripping down his hand despite the makeshift bandage he had wrapped around it. Michelangelo was limping, his ankle either badly sprained or broken. Leonardo was in the worst shape, his arms around Raphael and Donatello's shoulders, barely conscious, as they helped him remain upright. There was a dark bruise already forming on the side of his head and Splinter could see the glazed eyes that told of a concussion.

"You have faced the Shredder," Splinter realized, shock turning into fear and fear into anger. "You should know better than that. You are not ready to fight him!"

"'S my fault, Sensei," Leonardo slurred, trying to pull away from his brothers and stand upright before them. Donatello released him obediently but reluctantly, but Raphael did not.

"Damnit, Leo," he snapped, keeping a grip on the wrist of the arm Leonardo had around his shoulder and around his back. "You're gonna bite it any second."

"Sit," Splinter ordered tersely. "Before you fall. All of you. I will get the first aid kit."

He glided from the room as Raphael gingerly lowered his brother onto the couch and then collapsed onto it next to him.

Splinter's movements were jerky as he pulled the well-stocked kit from the shelf in Donatello's lab. His sons had been foolish to fight Saki. They grew in skill each day, but Saki has been practicing murder for many years, and he was highly proficient. They should know better.

From the other room, Splinter could hear Raphael raise his voice and make out the words "Leo" and "our fault," but even his sensitive ears couldn't hear the rest.

"…Isn't going to save Tang Shen," he heard Donatello tell Leonardo earnestly as he neared the door to the living room. He paused just out of their eyesight.

"Yeah," Michelangelo added, sounding miserable. "We tried that once already."

"I know, guys," Leonardo said, clearly weary. "It's just that-"

Splinter let the door clang open loudly as he reentered the room. The brothers went silent. Donatello looked up from where he leaned heavily on his staff in front of his eldest brother. Michelangelo was on his back on the floor, his feet gingerly raised and placed on the couch next to Raphael.

"Sit, Donatello," Splinter ordered.

"I'm not hurt so bad. Sensei. I'll help you take care of the others."

"Sit," Splinter said sharply. "Now."

Donatello sat.

Splinter was silent as he tended to the boys, first checking Leonardo's eyes and then handing him some medicine. Leonardo started to protest, but a glare from Splinter stopped him cold. He obediently swallowed what he was given. Raphael didn't speak, but he grunted as Splinter prodded at his bruised face, feeling to see if bones were broken. Donatello was next, wincing and hissing as Splinter stitched him put but not complaining vocally. He - all of the turtles - were well familiar with the process by now. As he moved to deal with Michelangelo's ankle, he finally spoke, his voice deceptively steady.

"Tell me you did not seek out this fight."

The boys were silent a moment.

"Well, er, not exactly," Donatello started.

"Not exactly?" Splinter demanded.

"I told you," Leonardo said, sounding tired still but at least his words were clearer. "It was my fault. I made them go with me. I just wanted to try to get Karai. I thought we could sneak in."

Splinter sighed. "We have been over this, Leonardo. I will not sacrifice any of you for Miwa. I cannot weigh your lives against one another."

"But Sensei, we-"

"I have made myself clear."

"But she-"

"Leonardo!"

"It's our fault she's with him!"

Leonardo's mouth snapped shut as soon as he realized what he had said. Splinter watched him carefully. His son's eyes dropped to look at his feet. The other brothers stared at the pair, watching to see what would happen next.

"No, my son," Splinter finally said. "It is not. But it is late, and none of you are well. We will discuss this more in the morning. You will go to bed." His tone brooked no argument.

"Hai, Sensei," the brothers responded. Donatello helped Michelangelo up and Raphael kept a close eye on Leonardo as he rose, a little unsteadily, to his feet. Splinter watched them go to their rooms.

Splinter watched them go. He began to have an idea about their secret, though it did not make any sense.

* * *

Splinter ventured to Leonardo's room very early the next morning. Leonardo was sleeping, but not deeply. He tossed and turned, clearly having a bad dream. He recalled the way that as a child, Leonardo had called for him in the night when he had a nightmare. It seemed these days the boys were more inclined to try to deal with their own problems.

He sat on the bed and gently shook Leonardo. "Wake up, my son," he said gently.

Leonardo's eyes opened. "Sensei?" he said, disoriented for a moment.

"Yes."

Leonard sat up slowly. "I was having a dream," he said.

"Hmm," Splinter hummed in agreement. "Was this dream about the night Tang Shen died?"

Leonardo's eyes snapped to Splinter's, but he didn't say anything.

"Do you know that in the days before Tang Shen died, Saki told our father that he had seen yokai? He described them as small and green. And after we fought, after Tang Shen fell, I have a vague memory of being pulled from the flames. There were four figures, clouded by smoke and my confusion. For many years, I have thought it nothing but a hallucination."

Leonardo swallowed and would not meet his eyes.

"Tell me, my son. How did you find yourself 16 years in the past?"

Slowly, Leonardo told him the story. When he finished, Splinter considered carefully.

"I'm sorry, Sensei. We wanted to save Tang Shen, but we couldn't get in quickly enough. There was too much fire. And by the time we got you, Miwa was gone. We failed you," Leonardo said, dropping his head in shame.

"No," Splinter said, resting a hand on his son's head. "No, my son. You saved my life. There was nothing more you could have done. My feud with Saki had simmered for far longer than the time you were there. It could have ended no other way than battle. Shen made her own choice, and Miwa was my responsibility. None of these things rest on your shoulders."

Leonardo leaned forward suddenly and hugged him. "We're sorry anyway."

Splinter stroked his shell. "Do not let this continue to trouble you, Leonardo." He smiled wryly. "It seems we cannot go back and change it. Live in the here and now. Do not regret the choices Saki, Shen and I made. That is not your burden to bear. It is ours."

Leonardo pulled away and wiped a few stray tears from his face.

"Yes, Father."

"Come," Splinter said. "I will check your head again, and then we will wake your brothers and have breakfast."

Leonardo ducked his head submissively.

"Hai, Sensei."


End file.
